


Deus Ex Machina

by ravenclaw_sass



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: A.I. Overlord, Advanced Muggle Technology, Angst, Canonical Character Death, F/M, Hogwarts Sixth Year, Sci-Fi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-30
Updated: 2018-10-30
Packaged: 2019-08-10 00:57:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,236
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16460399
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ravenclaw_sass/pseuds/ravenclaw_sass
Summary: It has long been predicted that technology would mark the downfall of man, but no one ever expected that a single A.I. could possibly claim that sole responsibility by merging the powers of technology with magic. Hermione is instructed to keep an eye on Malfoy with the hope that his inside knowledge holds the key to Voldemort's destruction.





	1. Tuesday, 22 October 1996

**Author's Note:**

> This piece is written for the DFW Halloween Tropes fest 2018. Every participant was randomly assigned a trope, and mine was sci-fi. I came very close to requesting a new trope, but then this idea hit me and it ended up being a really fun writing experience. I hope you enjoy this little fic as much as I enjoyed writing it! 
> 
> Lots of love to alpha, beta and cheerleader CourtingInsanity. You assigned me this trope so it seemed only fair that you held my hand during the whole process, haha. Also: a special shout-out to Luke! Thank you both for all your genius and support. <3
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't own anything you recognise. Everything belongs to J.K. Rowling. I merely used her characters and world for my own little plot, which I hope you'll like.

_**Deus Ex Machina  
God From the Machine** _

* * *

Hermione let out a sigh. “Honestly, Ron,” she muttered irritably as she crossed out another sentence, “what in the world have you been doing during class? It’s like you haven’t paid attention _at all._ ”

“That’s probably because I haven’t.” Ron gave her a careless shrug. “I was just trying to make it through that class alive, what with Seamus setting our cauldron on fire—not once but _twice.”_

“You’re so dramatic.”

He rolled his eyes at her. “ _You’re_ so dismissive. Did you not see my singed sleeves? They were smoking until we made it to Transfiguration!”

Crossing out another sentence, Hermione shook her head and huffed. The parchment in front of her had more crossed-out sentences than coherent ones, and the essay was due the next day. There was a knot in her stomach that indicated nerves, even though this was not even her own homework. She had no idea how Ron lived like this; his homework habits gave her _so much_ second-hand stress that she was sure that her friendship with him, as dear as he was to her, would give her grey hairs before she would turn twenty.

It was very late for a weekday and the Gryffindor common room was nearly deserted. Only a foursome of seventh-years still sat near the fireplace—Cormac McLaggen thankfully absent from them—snickering obnoxiously while playing some kind of cards game. The cold October-wind swept harshly around the tower; the fireplace crackled in a cosy sort of way, and in the corner of the couch, Crookshanks laid curled up like a fluffy orange pillow, fast asleep.

Ron sat next to Hermione, leaning on the table with his elbow. His chin rested on his left hand and his eyes were closed. She glanced up and abruptly paused her revision work, straightening her spine to stare at him in disbelief. Did he really think he could just fall asleep while she worked her arse off going over his horrible excuse for a Potions essay? As if _she_ wasn’t tired! It was nearly one in the morning!

Without fully thinking through what she was doing, Hermione lifted her arm, reached out and lightly stabbed the tip of her quill in his right cheek.

“OW!” He jumped in his seat and swatted a hand at her quill in reflex, sending it across the table. “What the _bloody hell_ did you do that for!”

She opened her mouth to tell him what’s what, but before she found her voice the Fat Lady’s portrait swung open and a messy-haired, bespectacled boy climbed inside, making his way toward them before slumping down into the only available seat at their table.

“Harry!” she fretted in a hushed voice, Ron’s essay and their petty argument instantly forgotten. “You were gone for so long!”

“You look like shit, mate,” Ron added in a slightly concerned tone. “Are you alright?”

Their best friend held up a hand to silence them and took off his glasses for a moment to rub his eyes. After repositioning the frame on his nose, he ran his hands through his black hair and kept silent for a little while. When he finally looked up, Hermione and Ron had already exchanged two worried glances, anxiously awaiting his report.

“It’s _so much_ worse than we thought,” Harry muttered finally. “Dumbledore showed me a memory from the 1920s… Apparently, Voldemort has always been like this.”

His statement was met with more silence as Hermione and Ron processed his words. “Why don’t you start at the beginning?” Ron requested finally.

Harry took a deep breath and nodded his head, frowning with concentration. “Apparently, Voldemort was never meant to be anything more than a prototype,” he began quietly. “The Muggles wanted to deal with infertility and give an alternative for adoption; they wanted to be able to offer those who were unable to have children of their own the opportunity to have a child that could pass for biological offspring. They couldn’t make it work—not biologically, at least—and after the umpteenth failure they came up with something different.”

Hermione felt the blood drain from her face. “You’re not saying—?”

“Artificial Intelligence,” he muttered in response, nodding his head dejectedly. “Robot children.”

She gasped for air, feeling absolutely shocked. Beside her she felt Ron stiffen, seemingly just as gobsmacked.

Harry gave them a brief moment to take in the news before continuing. “It’s perfect in theory. You merge your external features with your partner’s and polish it up until you have a beautiful kid that looks like both of you, and you get to choose all its characteristics, and even make changes whenever you want. You can literally create the perfect child.”

“Then where did it go wrong?” Ron asked, sounding anxious and disgusted.

“Well, apparently they soon found out that while you can teach an A.I. pretty much everything, the one thing you can’t teach it is how to love.” Harry frowned as he dug through his memory. “Even though it can recognise human emotion, it can’t feel it. You can teach it who’s supposed to be important to them, but you can’t make them actually _feel_ it. While Tom Riddle seemed nearly flawless, he was also cold and distant. The project was considered a failure and defunded.”

“And what of Riddle?” Hermione whispered. “What happened to him?”

Harry glanced at her, his green eyes expressing regret. “He was considered too lifelike to destroy. His creators had gotten attached and they held out hope that his lack of emotions could be fixed, that he could learn, so they put him in an orphanage, hoping that the interaction with human children could teach him to feel. It backfired, and they just left him there.”

The seventh-years across the common room loudly got up from their seats near the fireplace and made their way over to the staircases that led up to the dormitories without paying attention to them, laughing and chatting, seemingly so carefree. Hermione stared after them until they had disappeared around the corner of the spiral staircase, envious that they had only their N.E.W.T. examinations to worry about, as if there was no life-threatening force out there that could potentially wipe out every living being on this planet.

“While I question the full depth of my Dad’s knowledge,” Ron said after a while, “isn’t it true that Muggle machinery and stuff has to be attached to some kind of energy source? Can’t we just… I don’t know… take out his batteries?”

“No,” Harry shook his head, “thanks to Armando Dippet, Voldemort now has an unlimited power source.”

Upon seeing their confused faces, he sighed heavily. “Riddle was put away and his existence was kept as secret as possible, but people still found out. Dippet got greedy—wanted to add something big to his legacy or something—so he found a way to convince the Ministry of Magic to allow Tom to start at Hogwarts. According to Dumbledore, the Ministry thought it was a marvellous idea and hoped to be able to weaponise Riddle’s unique abilities after graduation…”

“That’s _horrible…_ ” Hermione muttered, unable to stop herself.

“Really, Hermione?” Ron let out a snort. “House-elves I understand, but are you _seriously_ feeling sorry for Robomort?”

Despite everything, a giggle escaped her throat, and before they knew it all three of them were laughing at Ron’s inappropriately humorous nickname for the darkest threat the Wizarding world had ever dealt with, temporarily not burdened by this terrifying knowledge. Much too soon, however, Harry’s smile once again seeped from his face to be replaced by a deep, worried frown.

“They never told Riddle he was an A.I., hoping he would adapt to human life. They _severely_ underestimated how intelligent he could become; how fast he learns. Before he started at Hogwarts he had already single-handedly figured out a way to keep his tech from malfunctioning due to the high concentration of magic in the air, and as time went on he found a way for it to only make him stronger…”

“That’s terrifying…” Hermione murmured, “but there _has_ to be a way to destroy him. If magic protects his tech then magic should be able to destroy it as well.”

Harry didn’t say anything for a while, and next to Hermione, Ron leaned forward with his arms crossed on the table, never taking his eyes off his best friend. “There is more, isn’t there?” the redhead asked softly. Taken aback by Ron’s worried tone, Hermione glanced up at him before looking back at Harry. He looked so tired; so burdened… And then he nodded.

“That night in 1981, when he went on a murder spree in my hometown…” Harry’s voice got caught in his throat, and he took a moment to compose himself. “…something somehow malfunctioned and everyone believed that to be the end of Voldemort. But then he came back, didn’t he?”

His eyes found Hermione’s and he took a deep breath. “Dumbledore believes that Voldemort has uploaded backups of himself on several hidden hard drives; perhaps even in highly protected cloud-based services. Even if we managed to destroy him… nothing’s stopping him from downloading himself into a new body.”

Ron pushed against the table to sit himself upright again, suddenly excited. “ _That’s_ what Dumbledore’s been doing, isn’t it?” he exclaimed before being hushed by Hermione. “He has been leaving the school all year. He’s out there looking for those drives, isn’t he?” he continued far more quietly, though the excitement from finally having figured out where their Headmaster had been going off to was still obvious from his tone.

Harry nodded again, and then briefly hesitated. “He wants me to come with him next time. No matter how powerful Dumbledore is, he is only human, and he’s getting pretty old, isn’t he? And Voldemort… Apparently he has only gotten stronger and more intelligent over the years.”

“That makes sense,” Hermione muttered. “Self-evolving technology. He is programmed to learn.”

“That _is_ terrifying,” Ron mumbled, echoing her earlier words.

They sat in silence for a while, each lost in their own thoughts. After what seemed like an eternity, Harry let out a sigh. “We should probably go get some sleep.”

“Yeah,” Ron nodded as he stifled a yawn, “you’re right.”

The three of them got up and made their way up the spiral staircases leading to their respective dormitories, but despite their unusually late bedtime and the howling of the wind, which would normally lull them to sleep, none of them slept very well that night.

There were dark times ahead.


	2. Friday, 14 March 1997

“He’s up to something.”

Hermione blinked at the Arithmancy textbook in front of her before glancing up at Harry, who sat across from her at the Gryffindor table in the Great Hall. It took a brief moment for her brain to swap the complicated formulas of her homework for the plain English words her best friend had uttered, but slowly and surely their meaning dawned on her.

“What?” she asked, surprised. “Who is?” Then she noticed the large, unfolded piece of parchment laid out in front of him on the table, and inadvertently she let out an annoyed groan. “Oh, Harry, not _again_ …”

“I’ll keep bringing it up until the two of you see sense,” Harry bit back irritably. “Malfoy has been acting shifty and suspicious for the whole year; I can’t _believe_ you two maintain that I’m wrong about this.”

She was about to open her mouth and snap at him to stop this stupid fixation, but once she took a good look at him she changed her mind immediately. Harry looked exhausted and unhealthy—not unlike the object of his current obsession.

Instead of snapping, Hermione mentally counted to ten and reached over the table, gently taking his hand. “Harry, I need you to visit Madam Pomfrey and ask for a vial of Dreamless Sleep. You look dead on your feet and I’m worried that if you get up on a broomstick tomorrow you’ll end up passing out from exhaustion ten minutes into the game.”

“She’s right, mate,” Ron cut in when Harry was about to protest. “Besides, we’re not disagreeing with you on Malfoy’s behaviour. We just don’t believe that the little shit is important enough for You-Know-Who to have been given an actual mission.”

Ron’s words did nothing to soothe Harry, and the Boy-Who-Lived glared at his red-haired friend with indignation clearly visible in his eyes.

“Harry, _please_ ,” Hermione murmured. “Go take care of yourself. Visit the Infirmary and get some sleep.” When he didn’t even shift his gaze to her, she sighed tiredly. “Would it make you feel better if Ron and I kept an eye on the Map to keep tabs on Malfoy?”

At long last Harry’s green eyes found hers, and after a moment of consideration he sighed in defeat and pushed the Marauders’ Map across the table before getting to his feet. “I know you probably won’t, but thank you for offering,” he muttered in an empty tone. “Don’t forget to… you know… deactivate it after you’re done with it.”

“Of course, Harry.”  Hermione smiled up at him and pressed her palm down on the Map. “We’ll guard it with our lives.”

Next to her, Ron muttered a barely audible _“speak for yourself,”_ before letting out a pained groan when she planted a firm elbow between his ribs. “Oi! Stop assaulting me, you violent loon!”

While Ron grumpily muttered mostly incomprehensible things under his breath, Harry left the Great Hall while Hermione turned her head to grant the redhead a disapproving glare.

After that, the two of them quickly buried their bickering-hatchet and returned to their homework. Ron worked on his Charms essay with a surprising dedication while Hermione refocused on her Arithmancy charts. For nearly an hour, the only words shared between them were Charms-related, but when Hermione tossed down her quill to massage her hand for a minute, her eye caught the most curious thing and she was instantly distracted.

Bending a little further down over the Map, Hermione blinked her eyes and refocused on two little dots. _Surely_ that couldn’t be right…

Remus Lupin’s words echoed in her ear. _The Map is never wrong._

Considering her options for a brief moment, Hermione looked up and peered at the Ravenclaw table to see if her assumption was correct. Once confirmed that the Ravenclaw half of the Patil twins was indeed absent, she cleared her throat. “Ron, would you mind if I left you alone for little while? I’m stuck on these charts so I’m going to the library to look for Padma and check with her what I’m doing wrong.”

“S’fine,” he said, looking up at her. He let out a yawn and lazily stretched his arms above his head. “I’m almost done with this essay, anyway. I’ll go see what Seamus and Dean are up to.”

She smiled at him as she got to her feet and collected her belongings in her bag. “Well done, Ron! You did good work.”

The tips of his ears turned a little red as he mumbled a nonchalant thanks, but Hermione didn’t miss the way the corners of his mouth turned upwards in a happy smile.

Hermione neatly folded up the Marauders’ Map. “I’ll take this to Harry on my way back to the Gryffindor Tower so you won’t have to put your life on the line for it,” she said in a faux-disapproving tone, and Ron rewarded her by sticking out his tongue at her. She affectionately ruffled a hand through his hair as she walked past him to the exit of the Great Hall and picked up her pace once she had reached the Marble Staircase in the Entrance Hall.

Partly unfolding the Map again, Hermione peeked at the strangest gathering she had ever laid eyes upon, confirming that both labeled dots were still where they had been a few minutes ago. Taking two steps at a time, she ran up the stairs until she reached the sixth floor. Resting a hand on the bannister, Hermione took a brief moment to catch her breath before moving along the passageway on the left-hand-side.

Once she reached her destination—the boys’ lavatory on the sixth floor—the stern, rule-abiding voice in the back of her mind momentarily made her pause outside the door. She wasn’t allowed to go in there, and unlike the girls’ lavatory on the second floor, this one was still in use.

_Get a grip, Hermione. You made a promise to you best friend. You owe it to Harry to check whether his suspicions have any merit, even if you don’t think they do._

Taking a deep breath, Hermione drew her wand, muttered _“mischief managed,”_ and put the folded, deactivated Marauders’ Map in her pocket before she slowly and quietly opened the door and slipped inside the lavatory. What she saw inside immediately made her wish she hadn’t meddled with Harry’s obsession.

Draco Malfoy stood with his back to the door, his hands clutching either side of the sink in front of him. His head was bowed down and his entire body was shaking, and Hermione barely stifled a sound of utter surprise when she realised that Malfoy was crying— _actually_ crying. Tears were streaming down his face and into the basin, and he gasped for air between his sobs.

Moaning Myrtle floated around him, seemingly desperate to try and comfort him. “Tell me what’s wrong…” she crooned. “I can help you…”

“No one can help me,” Malfoy managed between sobs. “I can’t do it… I can’t… It won’t work… and unless I do it soon… H-he says he’ll kill me…”  
  
The scene before her made Hermione feel uneasy. Never before had she witnessed Draco Malfoy in such a vulnerable state. With Harry’s obsession to prove that Malfoy was up to something she had been more focused on him than was usual. She had noticed that he had looked exceedingly ill for the whole year, with greyish skin and dark purple circles around his eyes. He was also very withdrawn compared to earlier years and hardly ever bothered to bully anyone anymore. She hadn’t been _worried_ about him, per se, but she had wondered what caused him to be like this.

Right now, though, worry was the only word that could accurately describe how she felt.

Malfoy bent over the sink and turned on the tap. He collected some water in his hands and threw it in his face. After seemingly taking a deep breath to compose himself he straightened up and glanced in the mirror as he rubbed a hand over his face. The second he dropped his hand his eyes met hers through the reflection, and Hermione stiffened.

The blond whirled around to face her, sending water to splatter all over the floor, a crazed look in his eyes that she interpreted as desperation. Malfoy’s right hand shot toward his robe, which he had discarded over another sink, and Hermione responded instinctively when she saw his fingers wrap around his wand.

_“Expelliarmus!”_

Moaning Myrtle let out a shriek of indignance when Hermione caught the wand that flew towards her, but her wailing protests were drowned out by Malfoy’s anger.

“How _dare_ you!” he snarled at her as he rushed in her direction. “How dare you rob me of my wand and touch my belongings with your filthy Mudblood hands! Give it back!”

Hermione pointed her wand at his face, causing him to halt his charge toward her. “Not another step,” she snapped. “Don’t act like you wouldn’t have hexed me through the door if I hadn’t interfered!”

Malfoy was seething. She had never seen him—or _anyone_ , really—look at her with such disgust. If looks could kill she certainly would have met her end right then and there, in this filthy boys’ lavatory. _How happy that would make Myrtle…_

For the first time ever, Hermione couldn’t help but feel a little scared to be in a secluded area with only Malfoy as her company. Seeing him stand before her like this made her realise that somewhere between fifth year and now, Malfoy had changed drastically. This was no longer the petty courtyard bully she had dealt with in her previous years. He looked like a dangerous, cornered animal, and Hermione feared for what he would do to free himself.

He was a mess. His face was a mask of cold fury and his white button-down shirt was partly soaked with water from his abrupt spin to face her. She let her gaze run over him until her eye caught something that made her heart skip a beat.

Fixing her eyes on his left arm, Hermione couldn’t fight back the urge to gasp in horror. His soaked, white sleeve clung to his forearm, revealing a black image that used to be carefully hidden underneath through the wet fabric.

_Harry had been right all along…_

Malfoy’s sharp inhale made her eyes snap up at his face again. The fury in his eyes was replaced with pure anxiety. He quickly raised his arm and pressed his inner-forearm against his chest to take the deterrent skull from view, even though it was already too late.

“Granger…”

Hermione felt a shiver run down her spine from the sudden fragile tone of his voice, but she couldn’t find it in herself to feel compassionate. She stared at him and instinctively took a step backwards. “You’re… you’re a Death Eater?”

Malfoy took a step in her direction and Hermione once again moved backwards to keep the distance between them. “You can’t tell anyone,” he rasped. “H-he can’t know I failed to keep it a secret, Granger. H-he’ll kill me.”

“You expect me to allow you to endanger this entire school by keeping your secret?” Hermione snapped in disbelief. “It’s not like you just casually broke some school rule! You joined the _Death Eaters!”_

“Granger, you don’t understand!” His voice had become louder; his tone more desperate. “It’s not like I had a choice!” He took another step in her direction and Hermione once again stepped backwards.

Her breath hitched when the doorknob came in contact with her spine. The door opened inwards into the lavatory, so if Malfoy continued to come closer, she would be trapped… Hermione raised her arm a little higher and tightened her grip around the wand. “I warn you, Malfoy,” she said, but her voice faltered ever so slightly. “One step closer and I’ll—”

She cut herself off when Malfoy yanked his left sleeve up, allowing her a full view of the horrible Dark Mark that was branded into the skin of his forearm. He held up the arm toward her. “Look at it,” he snapped. “Do you honestly think I willingly signed up for this? _Look at it, Granger!_ I don’t have a wand, there is nothing I can do to you!”

Hermione tentatively took a step in his direction and stared at the black skull and snake that covered most of the pale skin. Malfoy pointed at the skull with the index finger of his other hand. “See this bump?”

She nodded when she noticed a little square bump underneath his skin and glanced up at him. He was staring at her with an intense look in his eyes that made her feel very nervous. “What is it?” she asked quietly.

He took a deep breath and a wave of fear and disgust flashed over his face. “A remotely-controlled self-destruct chip.”


	3. Chapter 3

“Where are you taking me?”

“I’m not _taking_ you anywhere,” Malfoy snapped over his shoulder. “You are _following me_ because you feel you’re owed an explanation.”

Hermione huffed in indignation but continued to walk after him. She stuck her hands deep in the pockets of her robes. She still held on to Malfoy’s wand, just in case. Even though he had somehow turned out to be a victim of some degree, that didn’t mean she had to trust him.

They had made their way up to the seventh floor and into the left wing. Most people were still enjoying their free time before supper, and Hermione was incredibly grateful that they didn’t encounter anyone. She had no idea how to explain why she was with Malfoy.

After turning a corner, Malfoy abruptly halted in front of the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy and his tutu-wearing trolls. Hermione slowed down and nervously glanced around the corridor, quickly realising they were about to enter the Room of Requirement. Harry had stalked Malfoy for so long, hoping to find out where his blond nemesis was going, and now she would finally find out exactly what he had been doing. It was silly that none of them had considered the Room of Requirement. After all, they _knew_ it didn’t show on the Map…

Malfoy paced back and forth along the wall until an intricate metal framework seemed to melt into the bricks. Slowly a door appeared, and Malfoy impatiently marched up to it before glaring at her over his shoulder. “Are you coming or are you feeling up for the challenge of getting in here by yourself?”

Concluding that he had recovered from the shock of being discovered, Hermione took a deep breath and closed her eyes for a brief moment before moving toward him and through the doorway. Even though her curiosity was getting the better of her, she had to remind herself to remember who she was with and what Malfoy had gotten himself into.

Once the door closed behind them, sealing the Room of Requirement off from the corridor, Hermione glanced around with surprise. She had fully expected the room to look similar to how it had during the D.A. meetings last year, but this room was _much_ larger and filled with more stuff than Hermione had ever seen in her life. She must have subconsciously made a sound of surprise, because Malfoy turned to glance at her with an arched eyebrow.

“This is the Room of Hidden Things, Granger,” he told her in a condescending tone that reeked of superiority. “Everything you see has been hidden here by a student or faculty member sometime in the past nine centuries.”

Malfoy took a step in her direction and grabbed her left wrist with an iron grip. “Follow me,” he said, ignoring her loud protests and resisting her attempts to snatch her arm from his grip.

When she nearly punched him as a result of their struggle, he pulled her closer by her arm until their faces were only inches apart. “Don’t you dare even _think_ about repeating that stunt from third year,” he hissed. “I have stopped being a kid a while ago, Granger, and I may not have retaliated back then, but you can bet that I will not let it slide this time.”

“Would it really be so beneath you to just use your words and _ask_ me to follow you?” she snapped back at him. “I am here of my own volition!”

He stared at her for a moment, seemingly considering her words, and then slowly let go of her before taking a step backwards. “This way,” he muttered.

She followed after him past several of the high piles of stuff surrounding them, rubbing her wrist as she moved. Somehow, her curiosity regarding Malfoy’s shenanigans had taken the backseat for now. This room contained the largest collection of magical and historical artefacts she had _ever_ seen, and her hands positively itched to dive in there and examine them.

Malfoy turned a sharp corner to the right and then finally slowed down. Hermione let her eyes glide over the area and she could not fight back the little pang of sympathy she felt in her stomach. Whatever Malfoy was doing here, he took it _very_ seriously.

There was a mattress on the floor with three shabby blankets and a few pillows. Next to this makeshift bed sat a bowl with some fruit—mostly apples and two bananas that would soon be entirely browned. A little further away laid a pile of Slytherin robes and a single tie discarded on the floor, and at the foot of the mattress stood a glass pitcher that seemed to contain expired pumpkin juice.

Hermione felt something akin to worry form in her stomach and she tried to compose herself before glancing back at Malfoy, who stood rather uncertainly in front of something tall that was clumsily covered by a sheet of red fabric. They briefly shared a glance before Malfoy reached out to grab the sheet. He pulled and the fabric dropped to the floor, revealing an old, wooden and damaged-looking cabinet of some sort.

It was vaguely triangular in shape, with intricate metal markings at the front of the double doors. It had once undoubtedly been beautiful to look at, but time had worn the woodwork and rust had started to form on the metal decoration. “What is that?” she asked softly, never taking her eyes off the tall, mysterious object.

“It’s a Vanishing Cabinet,” Malfoy muttered in response before turning his back to her. He let his robes slide off his shoulders and onto the floor before focusing on undoing the buttons of his soaked shirt. Hermione let out an annoyed sigh as she turned away from him to allow him some privacy, though she could still see him from the corner of her eye. The shirt soon fell to the floor as well, and Hermione noticed with a start how pale and skinny Malfoy was.

She dropped the act of politeness and turned back to him, taking him in with worried eyes. He bent down to snatch another shirt from the pile on the floor and Hermione couldn’t fight back an audible gasp when his spine became fully visible through his skin. Malfoy got back up at once and spun around to glare at her, but it did nothing to eliminate the overwhelming sympathy she felt for him.

“You’re nothing but skin and bones,” she uttered in shock.

Malfoy sniffed haughtily as he put his arms through the sleeves of his new shirt. “ _However_ will I sleep tonight, knowing now that my physique isn’t pleasing to you?” he snapped at her.

Hermione gaped at him for a moment before sticking her nose in the air. “Well, I’m _sorry_ for expressing worry for your well-being,” she bit back. “Obviously you’re doing _really_ well, so I better get going. Good luck with that chip in your arm!”

She turned around, fully intend on leaving the blond bastard behind in this fascinating room of hidden objects, but then he uttered her name in such a soft and broken tone that Hermione froze on the spot.

“Would you help?”

He had worded his request extremely carefully. He didn’t straight up tell her he needed help; he didn’t even ask if she would help _him._ It seemed, in every way, a simple question to gauge her stance, though she knew better than that.

“Help with what?” she asked, forcing herself to speak in an emotionless tone as she stared straight ahead.

When no answer came, Hermione slowly turned back around to face him again. Malfoy stood very still and stared at a single spot on the floor between them, his brows knitted together, forming a deep crease in his forehead. His shirt had only been buttoned halfway and the pale skin of his chest seemed almost the same colour as the white fabric of his shirt. His hands were clenched into fists, but Hermione could see that Malfoy was not angry; he simply seemed unable to vocalise what he wanted, and that made her realise that he was really struggling. To ask _her_ of all people for help… He must really be desperate.

Taking a deep breath, she reached in the pocket of her robes and took out the wand she had taken from him earlier, in the lavatory. She took a step forward and extended her arm until the wand was in his line of vision, and finally Malfoy’s head snapped up. He stared at her for a brief moment before reaching out and closing his fingers around the thin, polished hawthorn, but Hermione did not yet let go.

“This is a gesture of trust,” she told him softly. “If you decide to turn against me now, Draco, you better be prepared to kill me, because I _will_ tell Professor Dumbledore about your Dark Mark.”

The use of his first name was experimental and left a strange taste on her tongue, but from the way the hard look in his eyes softened it appeared she had made the right decision. Malfoy nodded his head once and Hermione slowly released the wand and let her arm drop to her side. They stared at each other for what seemed like a really long time, and finally Hermione took another deep breath.

“Tell me everything.”


	4. Saturday, 15 March 1997

Ron gave her such an enthusiastic shove that Hermione nearly fell off her chair as a result. She opened her mouth to bite his head off, but the intensity of his glare surprised her a little and made her pause. He forcefully motioned his head to the hospital bed, and with immense relief she saw that Harry was blinking against the harsh yellow light of the lamp that hung directly above his hospital bed.

She reached out and grabbed his hand, giving it a comforting squeeze. “Oh, Harry! You’re awake!”

“Nice of you to drop in,” Ron added, grinning.

Harry blinked a few more times and slowly looked around, seemingly feeling a little disoriented. Hermione signalled Madam Pomfrey, who came over at once.

“What happened?” Harry muttered.

“Cracked skull,” the matron answered briskly, pushing him back against the pillows when he attempted to sit up. “Nothing to worry about, I mended it at once, but I’m keeping you in overnight. You shouldn’t overexert yourself for a few hours.”

Harry started protesting at once. “I want to find McLaggen and kill him!”

Madam Pomfrey tutted in disapproval. “I’m afraid that would come under the heading of _overexertion_ ”, she said, firmly pushing him back against the pillows once again and raising her wand in a threatening manner. “You will stay here until I discharge you, Potter, or I shall call the Headmaster.” After one last stern glance she moved away and made her way back into her office.

“Do you know how much we lost by?” Harry asked through clenched teeth, and Hermione let out an annoyed sigh. He literally had a broken skull and _still_ the only thing on his mind was that they had lost against Hufflepuff. It was third year all over again. She let their exchange wash over her and slowly let go of Harry’s hand so she could fold her arms in front of her chest.

“When I get a hold of McLaggen—”

Ron surprised her by shooting down Harry’s violent wish and told him the rest of the Gryffindor team probably already dealt with him. The redhead was in an almost inappropriately good mood considering the fact that his best friend had been in a head-injury-induced coma for most of the day. Hermione understood that he was happy that McLaggen had messed up and would no longer be a threat to his position on the team, but that didn’t stop her from rolling her eyes at her two best friends.

“—you’re getting a bit obsessed with Malfoy, Harry. I mean, thinking about missing a match just to follow him…”

“I just want to catch him at it!” Harry snapped in frustration. “I mean, where’s he going when he disappears off the Map?”

 _Oh no. So clearly Quidditch_ wasn’t _the only thing on his mind…_

Hermione had hoped for more time to wrap her head around what she had discovered yesterday. She had hoped that the Quidditch match would have Harry sufficiently distracted for long enough, and then when McLaggen had accidentally knocked him out with a Bludger she had hoped that his injury would be his number one priority. Clearly she had underestimated his incredible stubbornness…

“Well then, I don’t know,” Ron mumbled irritably after Harry had shot down his suggestion that Malfoy might be sneaking off to Hogsmeade. She took a deep breath.

“But I do,” she announced softly.

Harry pushed himself up against his pillows and stared at her with wide eyes. “You _know_ where Malfoy goes?” he asked almost disbelievingly.

“Yes,” Hermione answered. She took a moment to stare at Harry before leaning forward a little. “And I’ll tell you what I’ve discovered, but you have to promise me you’ll listen with an open mind,” she told him sternly. “You too, Ron. I know how you two get when it comes to Malfoy.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Ron spluttered, sounding offended.

“Just that you always assume the worst, both of you,” she bit back. “Now, will you listen?”

She allowed Harry and Ron a brief moment to get their bad mood out of their system before fishing the neatly folded, blank Marauders’ Map from the inner pocket of her cloak and putting it down on Harry’s lap.

“Yesterday, after you left, Ron and I stayed in the Great Hall to work on our homework,” she began. “You were right when you gave us the Map, because I wasn’t planning on checking it. But I saw something I couldn’t ignore.”

“Wait a minute,” Ron interjected, raising his eyebrows. “So you _weren’t_ going to the library?”

“No,” Hermione admitted. “I’m sorry for lying, but I figured that if I went by myself, the chances of Malfoy discovering me would be a lot slimmer than they would have been if we went together.”

Harry looked like the embodiment of impatience, and while he didn’t say it—he probably knew better by now—she could almost hear him yell at her in his mind to get on with it. As she stared into his green eyes, a plan formed in her mind and she slowly got up from her chair.

“Wait. I have an idea. I’ll be right back. Hide the Map.”

With those words she turned around and marched to Madam Pomfrey’s office. Even though she had promised Malfoy that she would keep his secret, she realised now that some things were just too big to hide. Professor Dumbledore had worked tirelessly for many years to find a way to bring Voldemort down, and her information might just hold the key to his final destruction.

“Madam Pomfrey?”

The old nurse put down her quill and looked up at her from her position behind her desk. “What is it, Ms Granger?”

“It’s Harry, Madam,” Hermione answered sullenly. “He’s being incredibly difficult about having to stay the night.”

Shaking her head in disapproval, the matron got up from behind her desk and joined Hermione in the doorway. Harry unknowingly played his part perfectly. He had a face like thunder and was clearly arguing with Ron—undoubtedly about her sudden disappearance—and Madam Pomfrey gave a tired sigh.

She turned to her fireplace and collected some powder from the goblet on her mantelpiece, which she then tossed into the fire. “Albus?” she called, and a minute later the head of Professor Dumbledore popped out of the smoldering logs.

“Afternoon, Poppy,” he greeted her pleasantly. “Is it time for our monthly tea already?”

“I wish, Albus, but this is not a social call I’m afraid. It seems I’m not as imposing as I once was,” she sighed, rubbing her eyes in a tired gesture. “Potter is giving me trouble.”

The Headmaster apparently didn’t need any more information, because only a moment later he stood in the matron’s office, dusting off his deep-red, velvet robes and readjusting the matching pointed hat on his head. Madam Pomfrey moved around her desk and sat down again to finish her paperwork, and Professor Dumbledore turned to Hermione, peering at her over the frame of his half-moon spectacles. The creases around his eyes betrayed that he was feeling amused.

“Ah, Ms Granger. There was no need for you to wait for me,” he told her after a warm chuckle. “I know my way around the hospital wing by now.”

Hermione gave him a smile. “I don’t doubt that, sir,” she answered, “but before we join Harry I must come clean and admit that I have lured you here under false pretenses.”

Madam Pomfrey let out a gasp. “Ms Granger!”

“It’s quite alright, Poppy,” Professor Dumbledore said, raising his hand as to wave away the matron’s concern. “I am certain that Ms Granger has a valid reason for doing so.”

“I do, Professor,” she said hurriedly. “Would you join me? I will explain everything.”

The old wizard bowed his head. “Lead the way, Ms Granger. And Poppy, would you please be so kind to make sure we won’t be interrupted?”

“Certainly, Albus.”

Followed by the Headmaster, Hermione made her way back to Harry’s bed. Both he and Ron stared at Professor Dumbledore with worried eyes, obviously uncertain about why she would decide to bring him here. At least he had listened to her, because the Marauders’ Map was carefully hidden away.

“Good afternoon, Mr Potter, Mr Weasley. That was quite the game this morning, wasn’t it?” The Headmaster chuckled. “How are you feeling, Harry?”

“I’m fine, sir,” Harry muttered uncomfortably. His eyes kept switching to Hermione, who had moved around the bed and sat down in her chair again.

Professor Dumbledore drew his wand and conjured a large purple armchair for himself. He made himself comfortable and watched with twinkling eyes as Ron glanced down at his own rather uncomfortable, wooden bedside chair with a slight pout. He gave his wand a wave and chuckled again when Ron let out a yelp of bewilderment before sinking into the cushions of his new bright-orange armchair. Not even Harry, with all his irritable impatience, could keep a smile from his face.

“Well, Ms Granger,” the Headmaster said, “I believe we are all ready for you to tell us what is so important that you had to trick Madam Pomfrey into getting me here.” He glanced at her over the frame of his glasses, but he didn’t look too stern.

“I apologise, Professor,” she said softly. Her cheeks felt warm, and she knew for a fact that she was blushing. “Given the delicacy of the subject I thought it best to not let Madam Pomfrey know the real reason. It’s… it’s about Draco Malfoy, sir.”

Professor Dumbledore folded his hands together on his lap and gave her an encouraging smile. He was the epitome of patience, and Hermione shot a brief glance at Harry to see if it was contagious, and funnily enough, it seemed so.

“Harry has suspicions that Draco Malfoy is a Death Eater, sir,” she began. “He has been… _following_ Malfoy around the castle all year in the hopes of finding out what he is up to.” Both her best friends openly glared at her despite being in the presence of the Headmaster, but Hermione was sure they would soon forgive her, once she told them what she had discovered.

“Yesterday, I managed to convince Harry to take a break from that and promised him we,” she motioned a hand between Ron and herself, “would keep an eye out for Malfoy.” She hesitated for a moment, knowing that the Marauders’ Map was a secret she had to keep. She had to bend the truth a little… “Malfoy was acting strange, so I followed him. He broke down in tears in the sixth-floor lavatory. I discovered…” she faltered.

Ron leaned in. “Go on,” he urged. “You discovered what?”

Hermione stared at him and let out a long sigh before shifting her gaze back to Professor Dumbledore. “His shirt got wet, and I discovered that he bears the Dark Mark.”

“I knew it,” Harry exclaimed, but he quickly pressed his lips together again before he could be reprimanded by the matron or the Headmaster.

The latter maintained a calm exterior and slowly ran a hand through his long beard while keeping his gaze fixed on her. There was no longer a twinkle in his eyes; instead he looked at her with a solemn seriousness. “Are you absolutely certain about this, Ms Granger?”

“Positive,” she murmured, nodding. “But there is more, sir.” The hospital wing went quiet for a moment while Hermione gathered her thoughts. “Voldemort…” she began before briefly pausing again, struggling to find the words. “Malfoy told me what he has done to ensure the loyalty of his Death Eaters. It’s… it’s absolutely abominable.”

Professor Dumbledore leaned forward and intertwined his hands together, patiently waiting for her to continue. Hermione inhaled slowly. “He has implanted microchips in every Dark Mark,” she breathed out. “They are attached to one of the main arteries in the forearm.”

“What of their purpose?” the Headmaster inquired softly, though Hermione was sure that he must have an idea.

“Voldemort can make them destruct at any given time.” She briefly squeezed her eyes shut. “Remotely. It would be an instant kill.”

Harry and Ron exchanged a disgusted glance, clearly feeling conflicted by their hatred of the Death Eaters and all they stood for and the despicable lengths Voldemort had gone to, forcing them to pledge their eternal loyalty to him.

“That would certainly prove effective,” Professor Dumbledore said with the slightest bitter undertone in his voice. “Have you learned anything else, Ms Granger?”

Hermione stared down at her hands as they fidgeted with the hem of her robes. “Malfoy is working on a Vanishing Cabinet in the Room of Requirement. It’s broken and he is trying to fix it. There is a link between the cabinet here and the one in Borgin and Burkes in Knockturn Alley.”

“Ms Granger, it is imperative that you delay the repairing of this cabinet, but you must do so with the utmost subtlety.” The Headmaster’s voice sounded strong and urgent, and Hermione’s eyes snapped up at him immediately, taking in the serious stare he gave her. “Draco Malfoy must never find out that you are hindering the process,” he continued. “He must come to trust you. That is the only way he can be saved.”

Ron started protesting loudly, but Harry leaned over and held up his hand, effectively silencing his best friend. Hermione ignored their commotion, keeping her eyes fixed on Professor Dumbledore. “What about his parents? Because while he has a chip in his own arm, I know for a fact he does all this to ensure the safety of his father.”

“We must find a way to deactivate the chips before we strike against Voldemort,” the Headmaster said thoughtfully. “I will inform the Order members we have within the Auror department to work with the leading IT-specialists to come up with a solution. We have a long way to go. First the back-ups must be destroyed, then we must free those who were coerced into following Voldemort. After that he will be vulnerable and only then might we succeed in bringing him down.”

A solemn silence spread through the hospital wing, and Professor Dumbledore sighed tiredly. “Once again, an entirely too large burden rests upon your shoulders. How I wish I could do this without your assistance…”

“We’re happy to help, Professor,” Harry said without a trace of doubt.

Hermione glanced at Ron and saw that he felt the same as she did. They would fight for what was right without question, but there was a healthy apprehension inside both of them. They knew there was going to be a war. She just hoped their odds would have increased by then.


	5. Thursday, 17 April 1997

Malfoy glared up at her from his kneeled position on the floor when she rounded the corner and entered his claimed area in the Room of Hidden Things. “You said you’d be here twenty minutes ago,” he snapped without greeting her first. “Did you think your tardiness would be charming?”

“Why in the world would I _want_ to be charming to you?” Hermione snapped back. “And how dare you come at me with that sense of entitlement? In case you haven’t noticed, _my_ arm is free from Dark Marks and destructive microchips! I don’t _have_ to be here!”

He abruptly got to his feet, with a grace and a swiftness that would have surely made anyone else—herself included—fall face-first on the ground. “Then why _are_ you here?” His voice was getting louder and angrier with every word, but Hermione refused to be intimidated.

“Because you practically _begged_ me to help!”

For a moment they stood face to face, each challenging the other with a passionate glare. They had been steadily fighting every day since that fateful afternoon when she had found him in the boys’ lavatory. They weren’t made to be in each others’ direct vicinity. Both of them were too stubborn and too opinionated. Even though she felt bad for him and his situation, Malfoy was just not a likeable person.

The blond briefly closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “I appreciate your assistance,” he managed through clenched teeth. There wasn’t a single shred of genuinity in his voice, but nonetheless Hermione appreciated the sentiment. She knew how incredibly proud he was, and for him to say this, whether he meant it or not, was yet another indication of how desperate he was.

She unclasped her bag and took out a square package, wrapped in a solid-white tea towel. “I brought you some food,” she announced softly, extending her arm to offer it to him.

Once again the animal-analogy seemed fitting. Malfoy snatched the package from her hands and practically dived down onto his mattress, untangling the cutlery before removing the tea towel wrapping completely. He started devouring the leftovers she had brought as though he hadn’t eaten in weeks.

Hermione shook her head dejectedly as she studied him. She suspected that if she didn’t continue to bring him food at least once a day, Malfoy wouldn’t eat at all. Despite their mutual dislike of each other she couldn’t help but feel worried for him. He hadn’t been very forthcoming about the details of his mission, but she was sure that he was under a ridiculous amount of pressure.

Taking a step back, she glanced up at the Vanishing Cabinet. Its red cover laid discarded on the floor. Hermione moved around the tall cabinet, carefully looking it up and down. Malfoy had done a thorough job repairing the outside damage, even though they agreed on the theory that it was the damage to the magic that allowed a link between this cabinet and its twin that needed repairing. Malfoy thought they hadn’t yet found a way to fix that magic, though Hermione had quickly discovered that the blond was a lot smarter than he gave himself credit for.

She had to interfere more and more every day, and she feared that soon Malfoy would discover that she had been hindering his progress. Hermione cast a glance at him and saw that he was still devouring his meal. She turned away from him and scanned the area around the cabinet. The time for subtlety was over. She needed a serious setback in his progress.

A plan slowly formed in her mind when she noticed a couple of bright blue Cornish Pixies in the air nearby. Hermione carefully moved to join Malfoy on the mattress, sitting down on the other end just as he finished eating.

“So, what is the plan for today?” she asked, just like she had all the days before. Malfoy continued to stare straight ahead with unseeing eyes, undoubtedly fighting his post-dinner dip. When he didn’t immediately answer her question, Hermione slowly and carefully started pulling her wand from her robes.

“I was up all night, researching,” Malfoy finally said to break the silence. His voice was flat and monotone, and Hermione knew he was pretending with all his might that he wasn’t talking to _her_ . “I found a spell that I think will help repair the damage to the link,” he added softly. “I also finally found a book that can help us translate those runes you found on the inside of the left door. My… _source…_ tells me it’s the password that should activate the link…”

Hermione slowly nodded her head, taking in the information. She hated that she hadn’t yet been able to get him to tell her what the ultimate goal was with this cabinet, and why he wanted to restore the link between this cabinet and its twin in Borgin and Burkes, but she was sure it couldn’t be good. Perhaps Voldemort was planning to attack Hogwarts. Perhaps Malfoy was planning on using the Vanishing Cabinet to escape the school once such an event were to occur, to selfishly bring himself to safety while the rest of them were stuck… She didn’t doubt that Professor Dumbledore already had a theory of his own, one that undoubtedly made more sense than hers.

“Do you want me to start working on the translation?” she asked, forcing herself to stop coming up with doomsday scenarios. “I’ve been taking Advanced Ancient Runes classes this term; I think my extra experience might make me better at distinguishing the proper tenses.”

Malfoy squeezed his eyes shut and took a long, slow inhale of air. “Yes, _please_ ,” he ground out with immense difficulty.

She had expected him to jump up immediately to start working on the task at hand, but when he remained seated with his eyes closed, Hermione decided to take full advantage. Subtly pointing her wand in the general direction of where the Pixies fluttered through the air, she nonverbally cast a light stinging hex.

The sudden rise in volume of their shrill little voices told her she had a better aim than she gave herself credit for. Jumping up with her wand fully and visibly drawn, Hermione feigned surprise and glanced around the air. “What was that?” she uttered, careful about giving her voice an edge of anxiety.

Next to her Malfoy jumped up as well, visibly annoyed. “Not those damned Pixies again,” he snapped harshly. “Those eight-inch devils have been bothering me all week!”

Hermione turned her head away from Malfoy, unable to fully keep a pleased smile from her face. She hadn’t been there when the Pixies had apparently been bothering him, but that did explain why they were suddenly closer to Malfoy’s little area. They were probably in search of a nice spot to build a new nest, and she imagined that the Vanishing Cabinet looked like a very comfortable new home to them.

The shrill noise of their annoying voices and sounds of fluttering wings came closer, and soon the small swarm of Pixies was upon them. She took a deep breath. _Time to sacrifice your dignity, Hermione._

Behind her, Malfoy was casting spell after spell, hitting the little creatures with stunning spells that seemed to have little effect. Hermione turned around and pointed her wand up at a couple of Pixies that rushed in their direction.

_“Depulso!”_

They were blown away, but the spell only briefly got rid of them. Not even twenty seconds later, five Pixies dove down and grabbed Hermione by the hair, and even though she had fully counted on this happening, she had stupidly forgotten how much this would _hurt._ She let out a pained scream when the pressure on her scalp intensified and she was lifted into the air. She wildly waved her arms around, hoping to slap some Pixies away, but instead she dropped her wand with no hope of retrieving it, as she was lifted ever higher.

“Ow, ow, ow! Malfoy! _Do something!”_

Beneath her, Malfoy wrestled with three Pixies to keep his wand in his possession. “What the _hell_ are you proposing I do?” he screamed at her.

“Try the— _OW!_ —try the Freezing charm!”

Malfoy dropped to his knees, keeping his right fist tightly clenched around his wand while three blue creatures tried to pry it from his fingers. With his left hand he feverishly searched the floor behind him until he found the heavy tome that held the Rune translations they needed. Hermione watched how he took the book and swung it at the Pixies, effectively crushing the fingers of his own right hand at the same time.

It proved effective. The three little pests dropped to the floor, now unconscious, and Malfoy jumped to his feet, pointing his wand in the air.

_“IMMOBULUS!”_

Hermione felt her hair slowly slide from the sharp little fingers that were no longer holding her, and she prepared herself for impact. The whole thing was far more difficult to execute in practice than it had been theoretically, but she had managed to push through the pain to subtly swing around a little. Her calculations had been a little off, but when she finally fell down, her shoulder still came in contact with the left-hand side of the Vanishing Cabinet.

_“NO!”_

She crumpled down onto the floor as an unflattering mess of robes and hair, and despite the utter desperation that had been in Malfoy’s voice, Hermione needed a brief moment to allow herself to acknowledge her pain. Her fingertips gently massaged her scalp while the other hand firmly held on to her shoulder, but an ear-shattering _CRASH_ right next to her made her immediately jump to her feet and abandon the care for her hurting head and arm.

The Vanishing Cabinet had fallen over and smashed into one of the large, stone pillars that held up the ceiling of the room. It was not as damaged as Hermione had hoped, but there was a large dent in the back of the cabinet that had caused the wood to crack open and splinter.

Malfoy had fallen to his knees again and quietly repeated the same word over and over again as he stared at the desolation in front of him. Hermione came up behind him and halted next to him, but when she turned her head to glance at the blond she knew immediately that she had made a terrible mistake.

Seeing him all devastated in the bathroom had floored her. She had never seen the infamous courtyard bully in such a state, and for the first time she had actually felt bad for him.

Right now, he looked impossibly more broken; more shattered than he had all those weeks ago. The look in his eyes was utterly hollow and the lines on his face seemed to draw a picture of absolute desperation. Large tears rolled over his cheeks and his chest moved rapidly as he tried to steady his breathing.

Hermione temporarily forgot about her mission, instead feeling nothing but overwhelming sympathy for her Slytherin classmate. She slowly sank down on her own knees and carefully placed a hand on his back, slowly rubbing it up and down.

For three peaceful seconds she genuinely thought he was going to allow her to comfort him, but just when she let her guard down to study the mess she had created, a hand came in firm contact with her collarbone and roughly pushed her away from him. Her already painful shoulder came in contact with the stone floor, and Hermione couldn’t contain a loud cry.

“Get your filthy hands off of me!” Malfoy snarled at her with a hoarse voice. He slowly got back to his feet and used his sleeve to wipe away his tears, even though they just kept coming.

Hermione tried to push herself up, but her second fall had only made the pain in her shoulder worse, and the joint protested harshly when she tried to move. She hissed and squeezed her eyes shut, trying to keep her tears at bay, but it was no use.

“Malfoy…” she began, but hearing the emotion in her own voice immediately made her pause again. Taking a deep breath, she exhaled slowly before she tried again. “Malfoy, could you please have a look at my shoulder?”

“Your _shoulder?_ Look at what your bloody shoulder has caused!” Malfoy snapped, gesturing forcefully in the direction of the cabinet.

“It’s not like I did it on purpose,” Hermione lied softly, sniffing and wiping away her own tears when she had finally managed to sit back up. She looked up at him and blinked her eyes, causing a new flood of tears to escape her eyes. “I’m so sorry,” she muttered hoarsely. “I’m sure we can fix it. But how am I going to explain a broken shoulder?”

Malfoy glared at her. “I’m sure you’ll think of something,” he said harshly, but when more tears flowed over her cheeks the hard look in his eyes softened a little. He set his jaw and rolled his eyes before holding out his hand so he could pull her up by her uninjured arm.

When she stood in front of him, Malfoy drew his wand and stepped around her. His fingers moved carefully over the back of her shoulder, and after every hiss she let escape he muttered a healing spell. The magic that spilled from his wand into her shoulder warmed her skin and left behind a tingling trail.

Soon, her shoulder felt as new and Hermione turned around to face Malfoy, giving him a watery smile. “Thank you,” she murmured. “I appreciate you doing that, even though you didn’t have to.”

His grey eyes bore into her own. “That’s what you’ve been doing all along,” he muttered. Though his tone was soft, it still betrayed the reluctance behind his words. He briefly glanced sideways at the cabinet before bringing his hand up to his face, rubbing his eyes. “God… this sets us back _weeks_ …” he uttered. “He’s going to kill me… he’s going to kill _my parents…”_

He was crying again. Hermione glanced at the Vanishing Cabinet and back at Malfoy, suddenly feeling incredibly guilty. She knew his plan couldn’t work—the cabinet _had_ to stay broken—but her destructive success meant Malfoy’s failure. She couldn’t risk Voldemort achieving what he apparently wanted so desperately that he had recruited a sixteen-year-old student to get it, but at the same time she also couldn’t bear knowing she could possibly be responsible for the death of her classmate’s parents, no matter how much she disliked the classmate in question.

Experimentally, Hermione lifted her arm and gently placed her hand on Malfoy’s shoulder. She waited three excruciatingly long seconds, but he made no attempts to move away from her or give her another shove, and Hermione decided to give comforting him another go.

“We’ll fix it,” she whispered, giving his shoulder a soft squeeze. “I’ll stay here with you all through the night to help if that’s what you want.”

Malfoy bowed his head a little, causing his blond fringe to fall in front of his eyes. It did nothing to hide his tears from view, and Hermione felt her sympathy for him form a heavy rock of emotion in her stomach.

“Why are you doing this?” he breathed out. “We don’t even like each other. Why would you _want_ to help me?”

Hermione slowly inhaled some air. “No one deserves to live like this,” she muttered in response, vaguely gesturing a hand toward the mattress. “No matter how much I dislike you; no matter how much of a bully you’ve been throughout the years… you don’t deserve to be killed by an out-of-control robot, or have him take your parents from you…”

He sniffed uncomfortably and slowly lifted his head to look at her again. As soon as they locked eyes, Malfoy remained frozen for a few more seconds, but then he stepped forward and resolutely pressed his lips on hers.

Before she could allow herself to think about what she was doing, Hermione kissed him back with the same determination, even though she had to fake her confidence. It was clear from the first second that this kiss was not meant to be romantic. It was rough, urgent and full of unspoken desperation, and soon Malfoy wrapped his arm around her waist while his other hand tangled itself into her hair, and while physically impossible, he tried to pull her ever closer to him.

Hermione could only hold on to Malfoy’s robes when she felt him move her backwards, and soon she was lowered onto the mattress while the blond abandoned her lips and began trailing her jawline with kisses until he found a sensitive spot on the side of her neck. Her breath hitched when she felt him lightly suck on her skin, and however good it felt, it also brought her back to reality.

Her mission was to hinder Malfoy’s progress. Professor Dumbledore had asked her to try and make the blond trust her, but if that had to happen like _this_ … She couldn't do that. It wasn’t fair to either one of them.

She gently pushed Malfoy off of her until they laid next to each other on the mattress, facing each other. For the first time since she had stumbled upon him in that sixth-floor lavatory, Malfoy had some colour on his cheeks. It immediately made him look a great deal healthier.

As they laid there in silence, just looking at each other, Hermione suddenly realised she was still holding on to the front of Malfoy’s robes. She slowly started pulling back her arm, but Malfoy surprised her by placing his hand over hers and keeping it pressed against his chest. She could feel his heartbeat, and it surprised her that it beat slowly, as though Malfoy was suddenly completely at ease.

“I don’t even like you,” he whispered again. His hand trailed up her arm and softly brushed a stray curl out of her face.

Hermione let out a breathy chuckle. “I don’t like you, either.”

He leaned closer again, gently planting another kiss on her lips. “Don’t come here again,” he breathed out, softly brushing his own lips over hers before kissing her again in earnest. This time, the kiss was soft and slow, and unexpectedly sweet.

When they broke apart again, Malfoy rested his forehead against hers. Hermione kept her eyes closed as she slowly combed her fingers through his hair. “Why don’t you—” she began, but a new, brief kiss quickly silenced her again.

“I’ll find another way to complete my mission. One that doesn’t involve you,” he interrupted her softly. “Don’t come back here, Granger. I won’t be here if you do.”

Still keeping her eyes closed, she could feel him move away from her. The mattress dented slightly, indicating that Malfoy had sat up. Immediately after that it evened out again, and then he was gone.

When Hermione opened her eyes again, five minutes later, she was indeed alone in this messy little corner of the Room of Hidden Things. While the largest part of her was glad that she was no longer involved, a smaller part of her was still worried for Malfoy, especially now that she couldn’t keep an eye on him anymore.

Slowly getting to her feet again, she started moving toward the exit of the room, not realising that for the first time since she had discovered the Room of Hidden Things, she did not feel the desire to look around with that same curiosity she had all the times before.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I might expand someday! 
> 
> For now, I would love to hear what you think of this so far. Your feedback means the world!


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